"There's a word I found recently. Evanescence. It made me think of you. It made me think of us. Were we just a dream, Sebastian?"
TW : Key themes of suicide and trauma.
WARNING: This is Book Two. Please read "affluenza" first to avoid any spoilers...
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I TURN MY head around the expensive restaurant, subtly staring at a couple dressed in atrocious matching floral outfits and talking over a dessert I was sure cost more than my entire life. My own meal was probably the best thing I'd ever tasted which was good since it cost an arm and a leg to even buy.
I look up at Oba and Dr. Singh with a small smile. Two Christmases ago the twins and I concocted a plan to get them together and it clearly worked, otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here eating $55 steak and sipping expensive wine. "So Dr. Singh, you're a birthing doctor, right?" Beth muses, stuffing her face with the food.
"Obstetrician, yes. That's me."
Bridget makes a face. "Wait, so they pay you just to look at vaginas all day?"
"Okay!" I exclaim, wrapping an arm around my cousin and covering her mouth with my palm as casually as possible. "Maybe we shouldn't use the word 'vagina' at a fancy restaurant like this, Bridge."
She bites on my finger until I drop my hand and glares at me. "What else should we call them?"
Aunt Amanda purses her lips as if she's holding back a laugh. "Maybe we should just steer the conversation away from vaginas altogether."
Dr. Singh clears his throat once. "Actually, I agree. There's something I wanted to say and no, it's not necessarily vagina related."
Dr. Singh stands up from his seat, brushes off his slacks, and gets right down on one knee.
"Oh my god," I whisper as the twins gasp next to me.
"Amanda Adams," Singh starts, his eyes glossy. "You are the light of my life. The love of my life. I'm nearly 40 and I have never once considered settling down and having a family until I met you. You make me want those things for myself. More than that, you make me want them with you. I love you and I love your family and I would be so lucky to call them mine. So, Amanda. Will you marry me?"
Oba's practically in tears as she nods. And then there's an eruption of cheering and hugging and kissing and congratulations. "We're getting hitched!" Aunt Amanda exclaims, pulling me into a hug.
"I'm so happy for you," I say, and I am. But some part of me wasn't. And I know it wasn't because Oba and Singh had found love.
It was because I'd lost it.
I grab my half-full glass of wine and swallow it down whole. It wasn't enough. "Hey, Oba. I'm not feeling that great. Think I'm going to head out early if that's okay."
"Of course, dear," she says, marveling over her hot new rock thanks to Dr. Singh. "Feel better."
"Yeah," I mumble, grabbing my coat and storming out of the restaurant and to my car. I turn the engine on and run a hand through my hair, wondering why I was feeling this way.
